


Ripening Fruit

by cheride



Category: White Collar (TV 2009)
Genre: Early Days, Gen, Getting to Know Each Other, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:27:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24673078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheride/pseuds/cheride
Summary: "The primary use of conversation is to satisfy the impulse to talk." -George Santayana.During the chase, Neal had that impulse a lot. Pre-series.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 56





	Ripening Fruit

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of fanfiction, for entertainment purposes only. The characters and concepts of _White Collar_ do not belong to me, but to their creator.  
> Originally published 5-21-20.

* * *

**_Wishing to be friends is quick work, but friendship is a slow ripening fruit._ –Aristotle**

_They always have a sketch, or a print, or something._ Neal could hear Mozzie’s fatalistic words ringing in his ears. He wondered briefly if having a voice recording could make things any worse, but that certainly wasn’t the sort of thing he could ask Moz. His strange little mentor already thought he was crazy for being so curious about the federal agent on his case. He’d thought about doing this before, but had stopped himself each time. But now, still reeling from the realization that he’d never stood a chance against Vincent Adler, Neal wanted to regain some feeling of control. Maybe talking to the guy who so obviously wanted to put him in jail but hadn’t succeeded would help. He hit the call button before he could change his mind again.

Even well past what would be considered an acceptable time of night to call anyone, the phone was answered on only the second ring—the result of an always on-call job, Neal supposed. “Burke.”

The greeting was direct, focused. It didn’t sound like Burke had been sleeping, and Caffrey spared a moment to wonder if it was his own case keeping the agent up nights. But hearing the steady voice suddenly made him question his decision to call. Neal did not feel steady.

“Hello? Who’s there?” The voice was moving pretty quickly toward suspicion, which Neal figured was another by-product of the job.

This was a bad idea; he should’ve talked to Moz about it after all. He was going to hang up now, that would be the reasonable thing to do.

Having made that decision, Neal was surprised to suddenly hear his own voice. “Agent Burke?”

“Who is this?”

“I don’t think that’s important.”

“Do I know you?”

Neal smiled slightly. “I think you’re trying to.”

There was a long pause then, and Neal wondered what the other man was thinking. But then he got his answer.

“ ** _Caffrey_**?”

“You recognize my voice, Agent Burke; I’m flattered.” He tried not to focus on the unexpected truthfulness of that idea.

“Are you calling me to turn yourself in?”

Neal laughed at the idea, and at the lightness of the attitude. “Not tonight, Agent. Wouldn’t want to make things too easy on you.”

“Then what can I do for you, Caffrey?”

It was Neal’s turn to pause because he honestly had no idea. This must be some of the impulsiveness Mozzie was always warning him against. But he had started this, so he put on a teasing tone. “Maybe I just wanted to thank you again for your service.”

Caffrey heard Burke draw in a sharp breath and suddenly hoped he hadn’t offended the man; he assumed the agent wouldn’t consider an unwitting conversation with a federal fugitive a high point. But then he heard the chuckle across the line. “I wouldn’t have expected you to be all that grateful for that.”

“I can be a surprising guy,” Neal answered with a grin.

“So it seems.” A beat. “You know I’m going to catch you, right?”

Caffrey’s grin spread. “I should let you go, Agent Burke. Like I said, I wouldn’t want to make things too easy for you.” Not that he had any real concerns the call could be traced—calling the man out of the blue, at home, on his cell phone, just before midnight had likely taken care of that. “But maybe I’ll see you around someday.”

Then he heard the agent’s final words. “Count on it, Caffrey.”

Neal just laughed as he hung up the phone. That had been fun. But he still wasn’t telling Mozzie.

**00000**

Peter Burke snatched up his phone quickly, not even bothering to check the caller ID. He had agents on stakeout tonight and was hoping for good news. “This is Burke.”

“Hello, Agent Burke.”

“Caffrey.” He took a second to glance back at the phone, but there was no caller ID information anyway. “I thought you were in Denmark.”

“Who says I’m not?” the young man answered casually.

“Then I’m glad I’m not the one paying for this call.” Burke smiled as he heard Caffrey laugh at his silly response. “So what were—or _are_ —you doing in Copenhagen?” Peter had heard some tall tales about Amalienborg Palace, but he wasn’t sure what all to believe.

“To travel is to live,” Neal said wisely, then after a brief pause, added, “Hans Christian Andersen.”

“I’m not sure INTERPOL sees it that way,” Burke said dryly. “And for the record, I’m going to be pretty ticked if you let them arrest you instead of me.”

“I would _never_!” Caffrey blithely assured him, apparently affronted by the very idea.

“Though I have to admit,” the agent went on, “it doesn’t bother me too much for you to give us just a little bit of a break here.”

“Gives you a chance to figure out who’s putting out those Gauguins, right?”

Peter was surprised by the comment, immediately wondering how much information the young man might have. “For a while, I thought it might be you . . . until I examined them. Not quite up to your usual standards.”

“Was that a compliment, Agent Burke?” Caffrey sounded pleased with the idea. “But either way, good luck catching her.”

Burke filed away the ‘ _her’_ ; that would narrow down their suspect list considerably. “Hoping to get rid of some of the competition?” he asked.

“You made it sound as if it wouldn’t be much of a contest,” Neal pointed out. “Besides, I heard she left a fence in pretty bad shape a few days ago. Seems like that would be bad for business. Not to mention unnecessary.”

And then, without waiting for a response, Caffrey was signing off. “I’ll talk to you later, Agent Burke.”

Peter considered the silent phone for several minutes. Had the forger he’d been chasing for over a year really just called him with a tip to help solve another crime? Crazy as it seemed, he thought that’s precisely what had just happened. He smiled and opened his phone again to call his team.

**00000**

Caffrey was grinning as he dialed the phone, but he couldn’t let his amusement make him sloppy. This time would be more dangerous, even with everything Mozzie had taught him about thwarting a call trace.

The sturdy, clipped tone answered right away. “Peter Burke.”

“Good evening.”

“Caffrey. What are you up to?”

The con man could hear the more official tone in Burke’s voice—no levity this time. That wasn’t surprising, but it was disappointing. But he knew with the agent sitting in the back of that surveillance van, there was access to technology the guy didn’t have at home, and he was sure they were already trying to trace him. He got back to why he called.

“Listen, I wasn’t sure how many of you got stuck on stakeout duty tonight, but surely there’s not room for more than three or four of you.”

“What do you know about stakeout duty?”

“And,” Neal continued, ignoring the question, “I wasn’t sure what you liked, but I figured you probably go for the classics, so I just got cheese and pepperoni. I hope that’s okay.”

“Caffrey, what in the hell—” Burke broke off when there was a sudden pounding on the back of his municipal vehicle. “What have you done?” he hissed.

Caffrey was grinning again, hearing the agents mumbling amongst themselves, cautiously opening the door, then taking the two boxes from the delivery driver. If he’d been in a really generous mood, he would’ve told Peter that he was no longer using the studio they’d been sitting on for the past two days and saved them a night in the van entirely, but since he couldn’t do that, the least he could do was get them a semi-decent hot meal.

When he heard the door slam again, Neal laughed, then offered a quick farewell. “I’m sure you understand why I can’t chat tonight, Agent Burke, but enjoy your pizza.”

**00000**

Peter Burke stared at his phone, willing it to ring. There’d been no rhyme or reason to the variety of conversations he’d had with Neal Caffrey over the past year or two, but he was hopeful that he’d get a call tonight. Of course, knowing it was a possibility, he also knew he _should_ be back at the office with a trap and trace, and the tech people ready to do their triangulation thing, but he was sitting at his dining room table with a cold beer anyway. It took almost an hour before the call finally came; he didn’t let it complete the ring. “Yeah?”

The answering voice was soft, nervous. “Peter?”

The greeting stopped him. Were they on a first name basis now? Though maybe a near-death—not to mention near-capture—experience would do that. But that wasn’t really the question on his mind. “Are you all right?”

“I think so.”

Burke wasn’t reassured. When he and his team had moved in to finally arrest the kid tonight, the fence Caffrey had been doing business with had panicked and pulled a gun. Thinking Caffrey had somehow set him up, the first round had been aimed at him, and Burke had seen it hit its target. Somehow in the resulting chaos, Caffrey had managed to escape again, though Burke had followed a trail of blood for half a mile before it dried up. “How bad are you hurt?”

“Umm. . .I think so,” Neal repeated, as if that were a reasonable response.

Burke dragged a hand across his face. Maybe he really should’ve traced this call; the kid did not sound good. “ _Neal_.” He pitched his voice low and direct, stressing the importance. “I need you to tell me where you’re hurt.”

The young man dragged in a slow breath, then finally managed an answer. “It’s ju-just my arm,” he said slowly, “my shoulder. I put . . . shirt . . . made it stop bleeding. . . kinda. Hurts, though.”

“I’m sure it does,” Peter said gently. “Listen, Neal, I need you to tell me where you are. I can take you to a doctor.”

“ _Pe_ -ter.” Neal sounded slightly amused. “Can’t do _that_. ’Sides, my friend is coming; he’ll help me.”

Burke couldn’t help but perk up. “Who’s your friend?” he asked, trying to keep the same calming tone.

Caffrey dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “You don’t know him.

“But Peter. . . know you helped me, too. Kept Tommy from shooting me anymore. Sorry I couldn’t stay to thank you, but want you to know. . . thank you. Hope no one else got hurt cuz of me.”

Caffrey was silent for a long moment, and Burke was beginning to worry maybe the kid had passed out, when he suddenly cried out. “ _Peter_!”

The agent gripped his phone tighter. “What is it? Are you okay?”

“Peter. . . _Peter_ —did _you_ get hurt?”

Burke shook his head with a small smile. _This kid_. “No, Neal, I’m fine. No one else got hurt. Well, Tommy got hurt a little bit, but he’ll survive.”

“Serves ’im right,” Neal declared. And then, “I’m tired, Peter. Need ta sleep.”

“ _No_ , not yet, Neal.” Peter was growing increasingly worried about the amount of blood the kid was likely losing. “Listen, if you’re not going to tell me where you are, then I need you to stay awake until your friend gets there, okay? Can you do that for me?”

“Hmmmm, I can try.”

“Just keep talking to me. Hey, we found a painting there after you left; you know anything about that?”

“What kinda painting? I know a lot about painting, ya know.”

“I know,” Burke grinned. “This was a picture of some red flowers.” He didn’t tell the young man that he was going to need a professional authenticator before he could decide if the kid had been passing a forgery or had managed to get his hands on an original van Gogh.

“Ohhhh. Not _flowers_ ,” Caffrey corrected, “ _poppies_.”

“Oh. Poppies. Well, do you know anything about that?”

“I know about pop— _Peter_. . . are you trying to trick me?”

“Maybe. Sorry.”

Neal giggled, but it turned into a groan.

“ _Hey_ ,” Burke told him, “don’t be moving around too much, try to hold still. Neal, I really wish you’d tell me where you are. You need a doctor. Let me come get you.”

“Can’t,” Neal insisted, though the kid sounded a little saddened. “Just have to wait for Mo—my friend. He’ll be here in a minute.”

Burke doubted that Caffrey had any sense of time to know when his mystery friend might show up, but he hoped it would be soon. Almost three hours had passed since the shooting without anyone looking at his wound, and that was too long. He’d known the kid would be too smart to go to a hospital, but weren’t criminals supposed to know people who could help in these kinds of situations? Burke found himself hoping this friend of his was one of those people, or at least had those sorts of contacts.

“Hey, Neal, you ever been shot before?”

“Don’t like guns,” Caffrey replied sternly. “Guns hurt.”

“Yeah, they do,” Peter sighed.

Then, finally, _finally_ , Peter heard something in the background. “Neal? I’m here, _mon frère_ , where are you?”

_Thank God._

“Have to go now, Peter.”

“Yeah, you feel better, okay? Will you call me tomorrow morning and let me know you’re okay? I’m free around ten.”

“You trickin’ me again?” Neal asked suspiciously.

“Not entirely,” Burke assured him.

And that made Caffrey laugh again. “Well, maybe I can’t ’tirely call you, either. But don’t forget, Peter, thank—”

The other voice, suddenly frantic, cut him off. “ _Neal_ , who are you talking to?” And then the line went dead.

In the cold light of day, Burke had his phone set up to allow a trace, just in case. He did feel like a heel, but he knew Caffrey understood the rules—last night might’ve been dire enough to call a temporary truce, but that time had passed. But then his phone didn’t ring, and that’s when he realized he really did want to know that the kid was okay. Peter swiped a hand across his tired face. That’s what he got for trying to be tricky.

At ten-fifteen, Reese Hughes stepped into his office with a chagrined expression. “Got a message for you, Peter. Caffrey says he’s fine.”

Burke couldn’t stop the laughter.

**00000**

Neal Caffrey spoke his name at the appropriate time, and then held his breath waiting. He smiled when he heard Peter say he’d accept the call.

“Agent Burke, thanks for agreeing to talk to me.”

“I’m not sure I _should_ be talking to you, Caffrey; I mean, your trial starts tomorrow.”

“I know, but I figured this was the last chance I’d get for a while, and I wanted you to know something.”

“What’s that?”

“Kate’s coming to court tomorrow. Not that that’s important to you, I know, but it’s important to me. We’re back together. Well,” he amended quickly, “as together as you can be when one half of the couple is locked up.”

“I’m glad that part worked out for you, Neal,” Burke answered sincerely.

“It’s because of you, you know. If she hadn’t been there when you arrested me, if I hadn’t had a chance to talk to her . . . well, I just wanted to say thank you.”

“I think you said that at the time.”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t sure then if I’d really get her back.”

“I’m glad it worked out,” Burke repeated.

Silence settled then, and Caffrey was surprised to find it was almost . . . _comfortable_. But he was well aware he was on a clock, so he pushed on. “It was a good game, Peter,” he said softly. “I don’t think it would’ve been nearly as fun with anyone else.”

“It was never a game, Neal,” Peter contradicted firmly, but then he eased up a bit. “But, I do appreciate you staying away from INTERPOL long enough for me to catch up with you first.”

“Figured it was the least I could do,” Caffrey returned with a slight grin. He hesitated, then added, “I feel like there’s a bunch of stuff I should tell you; I don’t know why.”

“They say confession is good for the soul,” the agent teased.

“Maybe,” Neal laughed, “but I sure don’t intend to test that theory.”

There was another silence then, and Neal recognized it was time for the game to end. The things he’d like to tell this man could never be said anyway.

“I guess. . . I guess all I really wanted to say, Peter, is thanks for always taking my call.”

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> And this is the last of my previously posted fics, so thanks to those of you who have come along for the ride. I honestly appreciate every single one of you.  
> I've got a couple more ideas in the pipeline, so I hope to be in this White Collar world for a while yet.


End file.
